Beholden
by Leah Gabriel
Summary: In Heavener, Oklahoma, Sam and Dean find someone who knows too much about them for comfort. Her answers and theirs lie deeply rooted in family history and will affect their future. DeanOC eventually, T for now but probably M for violence and sex later.
1. Chapter 1 Good Samaritans

Author's Note:

This story starts in season 1 and will continue beyond that, probably separate but parallel. I don't own Sam and Dean Winchester, and I don't own anyone else who may show up from the show. I hope you enjoy this story- I have big plans for it. 

Chapter 1 Good Samaritans

Heavener, Oklahoma.

Sam and Dean Winchester were tired. It'd been a long day on the road, and with no eminent signs of demons, werewolves, angry spirits, or cannibals-gone-haywire Dean was leaning towards tetchiness after their late dinner at the Heavener Earth Diner.

"I'm just saying, if it's the special, they ought to have it. At all times."

"It's ten o'clock, Dean. We're lucky they were open," Sam replied, not wanting to continue the argument.

"But see, they were open! And if they're open, and they've got the special sign on the wall, then I think it's within my rights as a customer to demand it."

"Did you really even want gooseberry pie? It sounds disgusting."

"It's got the word pie in it. 'Course I want it. I am a man of many pies. Gooseberry, chickenberry, porkberry-"

The sound of voices in an alley caught Sam's attention, if not Dean's.

"You hear that?" he asked, throwing out a hand.

"Dude, stop it," Dean commented, brushing the hand off his chest. "Hear what?"

There were at least two distinct male voices, angry, followed by a low female murmur, surprisingly calm coming from what appeared to be behind a closed coffee shop.

"Come on," Sam said, and ducked down the alley.

"Sounds like the kind of interaction we don't really want to interrupt," Dean muttered, but followed.

***

Emily tried to make her stance against the back of the wall look casual, rather than forced.

"I still don't understand what we're arguing about, fellas," she said, calmly as she could under the circumstances.

"Then you're as crazy as that loony-ass daddy of yours," snarled Grant Heyward. "He owes us. We see you first, so you owe us."

"Yeah," his companion, Stew Warden, agreed. Emily recognized them both from better days, when they'd played poker in her living room with her father instead of lurking in the alley behind coffee shops at night. "And what you don't have in that purse of yours, we'll be taking in other ways."

"If my dad owes you money, he'll pay you. I'm not his accountant," she said, skating over a threat that was more naked than veiled. "Look, it's late, we're all a little tired and more'n a little cranky, so why don't we just-"

"Why don't we just all call it a night?" came a new voice, and Emily jumped. She hadn't heard or seen anyone coming. Hell, she hadn't seen any of this coming, and that was damn unhelpful. She couldn't make out features in the alley light, but the newcomers were tall- very tall. And hopefully very good Samaritans.

"Back off, asshole," Grant said.

"Either that or wait your turn," Stew said.

"Well, you two are just a charming pair," the speaker said. Emily could make him out better now- short hair and rough good looks. Leather jacket. The other was taller, thinner, with shaggy dark hair. She took a slow step backward. These men could be help, but even if they weren't, they were a distraction. It was time to make a run for it.

"Don't you think they're charming?"Leather Jacket asked his compatriot.

"Yeah. Real charming." Shaggy Hair rolled his eyes. "Now please, listen. We can all walk away from this, so long as you'll walk away first."

Another slow step back for Emily. One more and she could turn and run as fast as her legs could take her. But before she could-

Grant's hand darted out and closed around her throat. There was a hard crack that reverberated through her skull as her head met brick wall too quickly.

"Stay put, bitch!" he roared in her face. His breath was putrid and she couldn't help a wince. Stars danced at the back of her vision. It was time to take care of herself the way her dad had taught her. It felt like so long ago.

Then, she didn't have to. Leather Jacket's fist connected with Grant's face, and as Stew made a move to attack, Shaggy put him face first into the wall and let him sink to the ground. Both men were unconscious and Emily put her hands to her tender throat. It was bound to bruise.

"Are you all right?" Shaggy Hair asked her as Leather Jacket toed Grant, saying clearly, "It's so much easier when they aren't demons."

It was the word 'demons' that did it. Emily fell back against the wall as a burst of light wiped out every sense with a white hot flash of pain that lasted only a moment as the images came; harder and faster and for longer than they'd ever come before.

***

Sam and Dean watched in alarm as the girl they'd rescued slowly slipped down the wall.

"Hey, Miss, are you okay?" Dean asked, as she finally met the ground. Sam knelt next to her, tipped her face up. Her eyes were open but unseeing.

"It's probably shock. Hey, hey, it's alright, everything's fine, just-"

That was when she started to shake. Sam changed his tune. "She's having a seizure."

"You think??" Dean said, his voice trailing up.

"Call 911," Sam said. The shaking didn't subside as they stood, waiting for an ambulance to arrive.

***

The next morning, Dean grumpily followed Sam into the hospital waiting room.

"Sammy. Could this have been more mundane? I mean c'mon, I'm all for taking the credit, especially to a piece like that, but this isn't what we do. And I don't like hospitals. Or waiting."

"I just want to see if she's okay, Dean. Then we can go."

"I want to hunt down some evil sons of bitches," Dean grumbled.

"So you've said. Five minutes," Sam replied, feeling not for the first time like a kindergarten teacher.

Sam approached the nurses' station as Dean hung back. "Excuse me," he said, doing his best to flash a charming smile at the middle-aged nurse at the desk. It seemed to work. "My brother and I brought in a girl last night- I don't know her name but she was having a seizure-"

"Emily Arcadia," the nurse said. "It's alright, son, it's a small town, everybody knows everybody round here. Emily's been in a couple times for her attacks. She's absolutely fine. Nothing to do for them but to let it pass."

"That's great," Dean said. "So glad to hear it. And glad we stopped by." He clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to leave.

"Don't you want to see her?" the nurse asked, ever so helpful. "I'm sure she could use the company, pretty girl like that. And while I called her daddy when she was brought in-" and here the nurse's eyes filled with pity neither brother could miss- "she may be needing a ride home, you know what I'm saying?"

"I'm not looking at you," Dean said pointedly over Sam's shoulder. "You're giving me the Good Samaritan look."

"Room 503," the nurse said cheerfully. "Glad I could help."

***

Sam led the way to the fifth floor and down the hall. He poked his head in the door and saw their rescue-e, Emily, sitting up on her hospital bed. The bruises on her throat had purpled slightly, but looked like they wouldn't stick around for long. She read a book, tucking long, straight black hair behind her ear. Dean coughed and she looked up.

"It's us, your rescuers," he said, and Sam wanted to hit him. "We've come to check on you, even though Nancy Nurse says you're totally fine."

"Sorry for him," Sam said, grimacing. "You look better. You know, without the- the seizing."

There was an awkward silence as Emily looked at the pair of them. "Hi, Sam," she said, then shifted her gaze. "Dean."


	2. Chapter 2 Home Sweet Home

Ch. 2 Home Sweet Home

The first awkward silence was nothing compared to the second. It was Sam who finally broke it.

"How do you know our names?" he asked, unnerved but trying to stay calm.

"And why is she pissed at me? She seems pissed at me," Dean said.

"Well, she's met you," Sam replied.

"I'm not pissed at anyone," Emily amended. "In fact, I'm grateful you stepped in last night. Really appreciate it."

"Really doesn't answer the question," Dean said.

"Would you mind coming in and sitting down? It kinda hurts to talk loud," she said, and neither Dean nor Sam could bring themselves to be rude enough to disobey. "I'll tell you some of what I know, but some of it is private. I'm sorry, I can't help that."

"Start with what you can tell us," Sam said.

"Start with telling us how you know our frickin' names!" Dean interjected.

"I have visions," she said, which seemed to answer both questions at once.

"That seizure you had last night…" Sam trailed off.

"It was a vision. And it was a hell of a doozy, and it was about you. Your family."

Neither Winchester took this well. "What do you mean, our family?" Dean asked loudly enough for a passing nurse to slow and stare. "I mean, what do you mean, our family?" Dean repeated in a jolly voice. The nurse shook her head and moved on.

"The two of you and… your father. You're hunters," Emily said quietly.

"You know about hunters?" Sam asked.

"I do now. Your father and my father… they know each other. Knew each other. My dad was one too," Emily continued, not without incredulity. "All this time, and I finally have a name for what he did."

"So our names, our father, what we do… it's sort of like you googled us in our head," said Dean. The weirdness hadn't worn off yet, and something about this girl set him on edge. She was pretty, he'd noticed that even in the alley last night. Sleek dark hair framed a pale, heart-shaped face dusted lightly with freckles. Her eyes were large, round and somewhere between blue and grey. Eyes that saw things that she had no right to see. Dean realized, as she blinked at him, that he was staring at her.

"I know it's weird," she said, and stared down at her hands. "I didn't do anything, didn't ask for this. My mother had them too. I'm sure it feels like an invasion of your privacy, but I didn't "google" anything. It just came to me. But that's not all."

"What else?" Sam asked, kindly. Of course he feels for her, thought Dean. The guy could sympathize with a pet rock.

"Something big is going down. Something dark and right up your alley," Emily said, and smiled sadly. "Something to do with me, and something to do with my father."

"Goody," Dean said, and Sam sighed.

***

The next doctor to come by pronounced her free to go. Emily reclaimed her clothes and rather than shoo the brothers out of her room, took refuge in the bathroom to change.

"I don't know about this," she heard Dean say, clear as a bell through the door. Wow, these walls were thin. Good thing she didn't have to pee. "I don't like this."

_I don't like this either, Dean,_ she thought to herself as she pulled on her Levi's. _I don't like it one damn bit and if you knew what I knew you'd run in the other direction and never look back_. Of course, what she knew she couldn't tell him, if only for that reason. She was going to need their help, and her dad too. That much was clear.

The rest of it: their history, their father's odyssey and their inability to locate him, and the various intersections all their lives were about to take, well, that was all a muddle in her brain. Dressed, she sighed and steeled herself to reemerge.

"Well, thanks guys," Emily told them as she assembled her purse and slid on her jacket. They both stared at her like she was a freak – well, that was nothing new. Sam at least tried to smile. "I guess I'll be seeing you, soon, most likely. There's a motel off of Elm Street if you're looking for a place to stay."

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asked forcefully. Emily backed up a step.

"What Dean is trying to say," Sam amended, "is, erm, would you like a ride home?"

"Oh," said Emily, not believing him for a second. "No. Thanks. I'll just walk."

"Look, Miss-"

"Emily," she corrected Dean.

"Emily, I don't know much about your 'vision' except the little you've told us, but I do know that a girl who had her head slammed into a wall, throat throttled and a freaky-ass seizure within the last twelve hours needs a ride home."

"It's really no trouble," Sam added. After a tense moment, Emily nodded.

"Thanks very much," she said, and followed them out the door. After all, there wasn't any harm in getting dropped off.

"Plus, it sounds like we need to pow wow with that dad of yours," Dean said, and Emily felt her stomach knot into ice.

***

They could've let her walk, Dean thought as Emily gave him directions to her place. It was less than a mile, only one right turn away, as it turned out. They pulled up in front of an average-looking white house. The bright flowers in the window boxes and neatly pruned bushes in the front yard gave it a hospitable air. It'd been awhile since Dean had been actually invited into a home, so he couldn't help but be offended at what happened next.

"Well, see ya," said the girl, and hopped out of the car with surprising speed for a recent hospital resident. It took Dean a moment to follow, and Sam longer to struggle from the back seat.

"Wait!" Dean called after her, following Emily up the path. "What about-"

"Yeah, maybe I can meet up with you later. I work at that coffee place, the one, the one you rescued me at last night-"

Sam and Dean stared down at her, despite that she stood on the front step to her house. She was jabbering. It made Dean suspicious.

"I mean, who knows if Dad's even home, right?"

"You could know," Dean pointed out. "If you checked."

Sam, ever the sensitive boyscout, seemed to get a message Dean didn't.

"Why don't you take a minute?" he said, in that kind voice that Dean couldn't believe victims-of-the-week – let alone real girls – didn't find patronizing. "See what the situation is. We can come back, if he's not available."

"Yeah, because I want to spend as much time in this town as possible," Dean muttered under his breath as Emily nodded, slipped into the house and practically slammed the door in their faces. They stood outside in silence until Dean finally responded to the glare Sam issued in his direction.

"What?" Dean asked, knowing full well what.

"Be nice, would you? She's had a rough night and she's just getting home. Maybe the place is a sty. Maybe her dad is –"

But Dean didn't get to hear Sam's thoughts on Emily's dad, because from inside the house came a crash and a shriek they couldn't ignore. Finding the door unlocked, the brothers burst into the house, prepared for danger.

***

"Filthy slut! Just like your mother!" Emily dodged the second beer bottle as easily as the first and remembered not to cry out this time. At least he was too drunk to aim properly, she thought, quickly running through her options as she considered her father. He probably hadn't left his armchair since she went to work the previous afternoon, which meant he knew she hadn't come home the night before. Yet she'd thankfully arrived before the point where he usually passed out and tended to soiled himself – though at least that way he would've been asleep. And not chucking empty bottles at her head. He reached for a third just as she heard the front door bang open.

"No!" she called behind her, but unfortunately this kept her in one place for too long, and the glass bottle hit her soundly in the ribs. "Oof!"

"What the – " she heard one of the Winchesters say as they took in the situation.

"Who the hell are you?!" James Arcadia – Jim to his friends, if he'd had any left – roared at the intruders.

"Please," Emily said, as loudly as she could while huddled over. The bottle hadn't shattered against her body, but the impact had been cold and hard. "Please wait outside."

"Are you- is this your-" Dean couldn't find the end to his question.

"Who are _you?_" Jim answered for him. "Think you can just waltz in here and rub my face in it, do you?" It took them a minute to realize he spoke to Emily.

"Dad, please calm down." The Winchesters marveled at how calm she herself sounded. There was steel in her gaze as she turned to them.

"You aren't welcome here. Not now," Emily said. "Please go."

"We can't go if – " Sam started.

"I'll be _fine._ He's my dad," she said, as way of both apology and explanation. And it was true that the outburst appeared to have cost the old man. He looked so much older than their own father, so much… smaller. He slouched in the worn orange armchair, glaring up at them all.

"Get out of my house!" he said hoarsely, as if he were trying to yell but couldn't muster the feeling. Emily's eyes echoed the sentiment, so the Winchesters retreated.

Outside in the sunlight, they heard nothing. Dean took another moment to glance at the flowers in the window and thought how they completely misrepresented the contents of that home.


	3. Chapter 3 Cafe Pick Me Up

Ch. 3 Café Pick-Me-Up

Sam and Dean entered the coffee shop (whose sign jauntily proclaimed it 'Café Pick-Me-Up') and took in their surroundings. It reminded Sam of places around Palo Alto, when he'd attended Stanford just a few months before. And for the first time in months, Stanford didn't seem like a lifetime away. They examined the menu.

"What's a frappuccino?" Dean asked, elbowing Sam in the ribs. Sam responded without thinking.

"It's like a coffee milkshake. You can put, like, chocolate or caramel in it."

"Dude, I knew you'd know. You are so gay," Dean chortled and Sam shook his head. Framed once again.

"So, like, what can I get for you guys?" the cute-as-a-button barista asked, batting her eyelashes up at them both. Dean leaned on the counter and flashed what Sam knew he considered a megawatt smile.

"I'll have a frappuccino," Dean ordered.

"Coffee, black. Thanks," Sam said, and forked over a couple bucks.

"Manly order," the barista said as she handed him a steaming cup. Sam couldn't help but smirk as Dean's smile dimmed a few watts.

"I like to be experimental. You know, try new things," Dean said, his tone argumentative.

"That's so cool," the barista said, in full flirt mode. Sam sighed and took his coffee to a nearby table, not waiting for Dean to follow.

He pulled out a notebook, and as he often did when things felt disjointed in his head, started writing one-line sentences.

Emily Arcadia.

Has visions.

Knows us, knows Dad.

Her dad hunter.

Her dad bad drunk.

Something bad on the way?

Shaving cream.

That was as far as his brain would let him go—facts and groceries. He and Dean hadn't been led here by newspaper clippings detailing the impossible deaths of Joe Six-Pack or Mary Soccer-Mom. Just chance.

"Dude, I've been thinking," Dean said as he slid into the seat across his brother, frappuccino in hand.

"Yeah, me too," Sam said. "But go ahead."

"We shouldn't have left," Dean said. "I mean, without explaining. I think the old man thought…"

"Yeah," Sam agreed heavily, slightly ashamed that this was, in fact, not what he'd been thinking at all. "I mean, she seemed like she'd be okay."

"Oh my God, this is delicious," Dean said emphatically as he tasted his drink. He looked over at the barista, who dimpled. To just Sam he asked, "Think she could whip one of these up in a motel room?"

"No. Dean. I was thinking," and here Sam paused, not liking what he was about to say. "She could be lying to us. Emily."

"Oh yeah, she totally could!" Dean agreed. "After all, all it would take to pull this off would be prior knowledge of who we are, where we would be last night, some stooges to attack her just as we passed, a fake seizure, a well-bribed nurse, a fake alcoholic ex-hunter of a father-"

"But that's just it!" Sam said, seizing upon this last remark. "How do we know he was a hunter? How do we know she had a vision? I mean, come on, Dean, we travel up and down the country conning people into all kinds of things."

Dean paused, considered. "I don't see it," he said. "But okay…"

"And there's nothing going on in this town. No concrete reason for us to be here," Sam said, pushing away the image of Emily's repugnant father. They only interfered with supernatural sons of bitches. Those were the rules.

"None that we know of," Dean said thoughtfully. "Hey!" he called out suddenly. "Sweetheart!"

The barista came running. "What can I do you for?" she asked, grinning at Dean. Sam was beginning to doubt the young lady's intelligence, but also to bet on where she'd be tonight (and where he'd be- on the couch in the motel lobby most likely).

"Has anything strange happened around this town lately? Anything weird, inexplicable?" The barista crinkled up her face, thinking hard.

"Well, there's you guys… we don't generally get a lot of visitors 'round here. Not that we don't like 'em. We do. I mean, I do." _Oh good lord, _thought Sam. Dean beamed.

"But nothing besides us? Maybe something less pleasant, less ruggedly handsome? Well, half ruggedly handsome," Dean added, looking at Sam. "You're more pretty. Elf-like, even."

The barista giggled. "No, nothing like that. Everyone's pretty healthy and nothing real untoward's happened."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Dean said, and waved her away.

"Lana," the girl said before turning and practically skipping back to the counter. A grizzled customer walked in and she took his order. Sam tuned them out.

"So either this girl Emily hasn't been honest with us…" he began.

"Or we've just gotten a heads up on a world of bad coming to this sweet, sweet town." Dean finished, making sure the back half of Lana was just as sweet as the front.

***

After Sam gulped down the remainder of his coffee, he'd gotten directions to the public library from the indomitable Lana and left Dean at the coffee shop with the express purpose of calling should Emily show up there.

As he sifted through the most recent newspapers, Sam found little of interest other than a slightly above average number of missing pets (possibly some kind of sociopath- yet another evil not up his alley), one recent but seemingly natural death, and an unhealthy town-wide interest in butternut squash. Apparently a festival was to be held in the week to come.

Sam leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He'd been at it for hours; no doubt Dean was making time with La Lana and wouldn't even notice if Emily came in. If she came in at all. He considered. Perhaps more was to be learned from the girl's history than from guessing what demonic rituals could be completed with squash.

Luckily the library had computerized records. Sam hated to go through the actual old newspapers – his fingers turning purple with bleeding ink and the paper too thin and dry and yellow to be pleasant. He typed in 'Emily Arcadia' and sat back to read the results.

***

Seeing as the coffee shop was devoid of customers, Dean was able to keep the little barista where he wanted her- butt halfway on his table, front half curved towards him, ankles crossed to showcase a cute pair of stems…

The door burst open with a jingle.

"Hey Lana, so sorry I'm late! I – " Emily's entrance was cut short by the sight of Dean (now on his fourth – and free! – frappuccino. "Hey, Dean," she finished shyly.

"You know this guy?" Lana asked, and Dean noticed her face lost a little of its cute factor to jealousy.

"Family friend," Emily said succinctly. "Why'd you think he was in town?" Dean's eyes widened.

"He was telling me about some racecar expo he and his bro were checking out in Oklahoma City this weekend. Said he might be able to get me a ticket!" Dean made what he hoped were convincing puppy-dog eyes at Emily.

"Well, yeah," Emily said with a sigh. "I mean, that too."

"So cool!" said Lana, flipping her hair as if to release the doubt from her mind. "I'm off," she said to Dean. "Wanna grab a…?"

"You know, I'd love to," said Dean. "But I better keep Emily company for just awhile. You know, family friendship and all that." He met Emily's eyes in challenge – she looked away first.

Emily slipped into the back to do whatever it was a barista does to get ready for her shift, and Lana slipped Dean her number before slipping herself out the door with a wink and a smile.

Dean picked up his phone and called Sam. "Emily's here," he said without preamble.

"I'll be there in five." Sam hung up. Emily reemerged, hair in a hygienic looking ponytail.

"What you got there?" Emily asked, nodding towards the empty cups on his table.

"Frappuccinos. Lots of frappuccinos. So effing delicious. I had no idea. Frappuccinos! They're like baby angel coffee snow," Dean replied.

"…I don't think you need any more," Emily said, and cleared the table. Dean fought the urge to sulk.

"Sam's on his way," Dean said. "We need some answers."

"I'll do what I can," she said, and set a piece of blackberry pie down in front of him. "Here. It won't help with the sugar high, but it should at least keep the coffee from tearing a hole in the lining of your stomach."

Dean stared from the pie, to the girl, and back again. "Did you have another vision?" he asked, incredulous.

"A vision? What? No," she said. "Not another one. About pie?" Emily looked confused.

"Never mind," said Dean, and dug in. He'd finished, and Emily had cleaned the tables, by the time Sam arrived.

"Hey," he said, somewhat timidly.

"Hello," Emily replied, not meeting his eyes. Dean suddenly recalled that this was an awkward situation, that this girl was potentially crazy or they were all in danger, including her asshole alcoholic father. Man, he was wired.

"Anything at the library?" Dean asked. "Any inexplicable current events?"

"Nothing," Sam said, settling back at the table. He finally looked Emily in the eye. "I'm sorry about your mom, though."

"My mom? How did you – oh, of course, the _library,_" she said, sounding somewhat annoyed. "You don't think that's an invasion of my privacy?"

Both boys gave her significant looks and Emily reddened as she remembered how they'd "met."

"Oh. Fine. Okay," she said, and for some reason started cleaning the chairs as well as the tables.

"What happened to your mom?" Dean asked, trying for once, to be kind.

"She died. About a year ago," Emily said succinctly.

"Was it… was it under strange circumstances?" Dean had to ask. Emily gave up the pretence of cleaning and pulled up a chair, setting herself heavily into it.

"It was quick," she said. "Doctors said brain cancer. But it only took a couple weeks. I made it home—for the end."

"You were at Pomona," Sam said quietly. "I read it in the obituary. That's a great school."

"Not that far from where you were, huh, Sammy?" Dean couldn't help but say. "Sam here went to Stanford. Brainy and all."

Sam and Emily looked at each other across the table. Dean thought he saw something pass between them; maybe the confirmation, the concession that each had left school, the paths to their futures in order to come home and deal with family troubles. Or, perhaps Dean was just high on caffeine.

"Yeah, well, that's when the visions started. When she died. I guess it's like a inheiritance. I mean, I've always been kind of – like, I was always good at finding things, anything really. Car keys, remote controls, even stolen merchandise once." At first she looked proud, but her face quickly devolved back into sorrow, and for a moment, a fierce anger. Dean and Sam looked at each other, considering.

"Do you know why you get them?" Sam asked her gently.

"No," she replied, and for the first time Dean thought she might be lying. "It's just how it goes, in my family. My grandma was special too. No visions, but I don't know, something. And of course my dad is – was – a hunter."

"About him," Dean said, and then was lost as to how to proceed.

"We're sorry if our busting in made things worse," Sam tried.

"It didn't. Don't worry about it. It's just how he is, I'm used to it by now."

"Since your mom died?" Sam asked sympathetically.

"No, since I was about thirteen or so." She stopped there. No more explanation forthcoming, they could tell.

"Well this is all fine and dandy," said Dean, trying to lighten the mood, "childhood miseries aside, of course. But kiddo –" and here Sam gave him a look, "we need to know what we're up against."

Emily sighed. "It wasn't my clearest vision, just because there was so much. I saw us all in a room, you two and me and my dad, and there was so much pain. First me and then you and then him. I thought I saw—" she broke off. Sam patted her hand.

"You thought you saw?" he pressed.

"I thought I saw him die. Killed. My dad."

_No big loss, _Dean wanted to say, but of course it was.

"We'll stop it," Dean promised. Sam and Emily each looked away.

***

Several hours later, Lana the Barista kicked a pebble as she made her way home. She was tipsy, okay fine, maybe slightly drunk, and thinking of that cute Dean Winchester she'd met at work. She had the feeling that he'd made up that racecar crap to impress her (well, to get into bed with her), but that was fine. She'd liked his hazel eyes and the strong planes of his face. Also, his large, sturdy hands when he'd briefly held hers after trying to pay for his frappuccinos. The memory of all those frappuccinos made her giggle, but her giggle wasn't loud enough to disguise a sound just behind her.

Lana whirled around. "Oh! It's you!" she said, surprised, but not unpleasantly so. This changed as she focused more clearly on the sound she'd heard – a roaring rush of wind as a fierce cloud of black smoke hurtled towards her.

"Help me!" she cried, but the bystander remained still and silent. The smoke hit her then, tore at her mouth and eyes until finally, all she heard felt saw – was a black fiery silence.


End file.
